Dear WSC
“Something inside him broke. It wasn’t the inside of his knee this time. It was his heart.” It may seem like a line from a Mills and Boon tear-jerker but it’s actually from the Daily Record’s coverage of Gary McAllister’s decision to quit playing for Scotland. Oh how a nation was thrown into mourning. Well, no, actually. About bloody time was the general opinion. The truth is that McAllister has never really been accepted by the Tartan Army. Of course the Euro 96 penalty miss is always mentioned but it started long before then. Since his debut in a glorious friendly defeat against East Germany in 1990 nobody has ever been really convinced by him. As early as 1992 there were calls for him to be left out of the squad travelling to the European Championship.Over the next few seasons there was much talk in the Scottish media of McAllister being tracked by Italian giants. Roma were mentioned, so were Sampdoria. When he did finally make the switch to that home of international playboys, Coventry City, no one was more relieved than Rangers fans who had also had to put up with constant rumours of his impending arrival. But it was the way he was booed from the park in Scotland’s recent defeat by the Czech Republic which convinced Gary to go. Showing a Hoddle-like thought process he whined: “There is an element of the media and the support which has exhibited a negative attitude towards me.” Hang on. What actually happened was as old as entertainment itself. You were rubbish therefore you were booed. No negative vibes, no bad karma. You were no good. McAllister’s attitude seems typical of the modern day Premiership footballer who seems to think we should be honoured to be breathing the same air as them. They expect us to stand like slack-jawed yokels who are delighted that the circus has come to town. Sorry Gary and every other footballer in the world. That’s not how it works. Enjoy your big money contracts, boot deals and multi-million pound transfers, but remember whatever changes about football the fans can still tell when the Emperor is naked.
David Lee
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Stories
Al Needham bravely takes on Reds in the Hood by Terry Christian and If the Kids are United by Tony Hill, two reflections on Man Utd-obsessed childhoods
With Manchester United finally confirming their status as the team of the Nineties with probably their best season ever, it’s no surprise that large chunks of Brazil are being cut down as we speak for scores of officially endorsed ghostwritten McUnited product. Much of it will be as incisive as a plastic knife on a rhino, so perhaps we ought to play like David Mellor and let the fans have their say.
The latest political attempts to counter hooliganism are a step too far, argues Stan Pearce
As the political landscape of the country has changed – so runs the conventional wisdom – so has the attitude of Westminster to football. However, anyone who believed that Trade Secretary Stephen Byers’s decision to prevent the takeover of Manchester United by Rupert Murdoch signalled another stage in the evolution of politicians’ thinking towards the game should have witnessed a low-key debate in the House of Commons in the week of the Byers decision.
Dear WSC
As a Wimbledon supporter I am often frustrated by the lack of a uniquely identifiable song, and some people might also feel the lack of a mascot. The fact that we have the best educated supporters in the country and our nickname of “Dons” set me thinking. For a mascot we could have a middle-aged man in a chalky tweed suit, gown and mortar board, carrying a large book, Plato’s Republic, or the Faerie Queene, say. As a special treat for the kiddies, perhaps he could recruit them for MI6 or the KGB over sherry. As for a song, the school song, Gaudeanus Igitur (Let them rejoice) would suffice. It would be particularly appropriate for its second verse with the lines “Vivat Academia, Vivat Professores”, loosely translated as “Long Live Academica, Come on You Dons”.I hope all Wombles will aid my campaign to make this song as famous as You’ll Never Walk Alone.
Aled Thomas, Cheltenham
If England managers have a hard time, they still get off lightly compared to their counterparts in Colombia, as Richard Sanders reports
As the new manager of Colombia, 40-year-old Javier Alvarez, steps gingerly into the post, he could be forgiven a little trepidation, and perhaps the odd glance over his shoulder. His two predecessors received repeated death threats and one saw his centre-half murdered by disgruntled gamblers.